Darkness & Echoes
by Kaprou
Summary: Peter Parker Web of Shadows AU. Peter's life will never be the same after this one! Close friends can make the worst enemies, and even the spider ghost is scared of this one. Oh, and MJ shippers? Heh. Gotta take a look. Read, review, recommend. (Complete)
1. Ambushed

The young man clomped in from the snow outside, and he leaned his skis and poles up against a corner in the small lodge. He clopped over to the bar, still wearing his ski boots. He unzipped his ski jacket, his lift tags dangling from the zipper and his gloves clipped to his jacket.

"I need something hot," he said to the barkeep in German. He grinned, a mischievous expression on his pointed features. He ran his slim hands through the mat of auburn hair on his head, dislodging melting snow. "And hurry," he added.

Several of his friends joined him, laughing. The bartender served up a number of huge mugs of hot chocolate topped with swirls of crème. The jovial youths shared out the chocolate, then most of them moved to sit on the couches in front of the deep fireplace.

"Harry Osborn," one of the men leaning against the bar said.

The young man with auburn hair started, and blinked. "Yes?" he said in English.

"I'm glad I found you," the man said. He wore a simple coat, almost floor length. His features were sharp, elfin, and pale hair was shaped on his head. "We have something to discuss."

"Are you a lawyer?" Harry asked casually.

"No," the man said, shaking his head. "No, it's more personal than that."

"I don't like personal," Harry said, his hot chocolate forgotten. "I don't like strangers, either. Especially ones that know my name."

"You haven't heard what I'm here to offer you," the pale man said in a deceptively soft voice that chilled Harry deeper than the ski slope had.

"No, I haven't," Harry replied.

The man leaned close to him. "I'm here to offer you Peter Parker's secret power," he murmured, his eyes deep. He leaned back. "You're twice the man Parker is. I think it's time he understood that, don't you?" he smiled briefly, his eyes calculating. "Think it over. We can talk again tomorrow." He turned and walked up the stairs.

Harry stood at the bar, stunned, watching him go.

**xXx**

Harry walked into the lounge as the cold morning light sifted through the falling flurries of snow outside. He looked around. The fire was freshly stoked, and he smelled breakfast cooking in the kitchen.

"Long night?" the stranger from yesterday said, stepping out of the shadow of the fireplace.

"What's the catch?" Harry said. "There's always a catch."

"The catch is the gift," the pale man with white hair said. "It may not be as easy as it looks." His smile grew. "But you've become quite the young businessman. You know how to take risks for tremendous gain."

"What do I have to do?" Harry asked firmly.

"Follow me," the pale, thin man said. He mounted the stairs, walked to the end of the hall, into Harry's room. Harry followed.

"This is the secret," the pale man murmured as he pulled a small thermos from his jacket. He unscrewed the lid and poured a thick black coffee sludge into one of Harry's mugs that was left on the table in his well appointed lodge room. Then he set the thermos aside and offered the mug to Harry, his eyes glinting. "Do you accept it?"

"I… I accept it," Harry said, taking the mug. If he felt the subtle pressure on his mind to accept the challenge, he didn't show it. He took the mug and sniffed it, then sipped it.

"C-cold!" he said, surprised.

"Too late," Mordred purred. "You must drink it."

Feeling somehow compelled, Harry lifted the mug to his lips. He took one swallow before the sludge seemed to come alive. He realized it wasn't liquid at all as it began to climb down his throat.

He choked and gasped, toppling backwards flailing, but it was too late. With malice glinting in his eyes, Mordred looked down at him.

"Now," he said to himself, "it's time to begin this properly." His smile showed his pale, sharp teeth as the darkstone settled into its new home.

**xXx**

Peter lunged across the room and snatched the phone off the hook right before the answering machine got the call. "Peter here," he said.

"Hey Peter," Mary Jane said with a carefully casual tone. "You were just finishing getting ready, right? For dinner with my parents tonight? They're here from Texas. They'd like to meet you. We had this conversation three days ago."

"Of course," Peter said. "I was just finishing up some prints in the darkroom." He glanced at the clock and blanched. "Yeah, I'm on my way!" he said.

"Just don't be late tonight, okay?" Mary Jane said quietly. "Please?"

"Be right there," Peter said. He tossed the phone on the cradle, hopped into his room, stripped, whipped out khakis and a nice shirt; in a matter of seconds he had changed his clothes and he was out the door.

"Can't believe I almost forgot that one," he muttered. "MJ would _kill_ me."

He made it to the end of the sidewalk when he felt an odd prickle. He stopped, looked around.

In the shadow of a tree, the ghostly outline of a man hung in the afternoon shadow. It gleamed slightly, and Peter could see the tree behind it. If the ghost had been standing in direct sunlight, Peter wouldn't have seen it at all.

"What are you?" Peter wondered breathlessly.

_You will forget all about me in a moment,_ he felt in his mind. _When I'm finished with you._

Peter sprang back, but with the speed of thought the ghost had caught him. It passed an arm through his head, and everything went dark.

Mordred's astral form shimmered over him. _And for my next trick,_ Mordred chuckled, _you'll learn to sleep._ He swiftly cast his spell as the spider ghost cowered in Peter's sleeping form…

**xXx**

Peter slowly mounted the steps to Mary Jane's apartment, glancing around, haunted. He didn't have a chance to ring the doorbell, as the door swung open of its own accord. Mary Jane stood in the doorway, settled in a wide stance, her arms crossed across her chest, her green eyes bright and her mouth a small line. Peter noticed she was wearing makeup.

"Hi," he faltered.

She didn't need to glance at a watch. "You called to say you were on your way over. Two hours ago. For you, it's a ten minute trip. So explain already." She was doing her level best to keep her temper in check. Give him a chance. _Then _kill him.

"I honestly don't know," he said, wide eyed. "I blacked out. When I came to, I was in Central Park. I came straight here. I lost _two hours?"_

"I thought maybe you lost a fight somewhere. I knew you didn't get lost. My _parents,_ Peter. You just stood up _my parents._ Who came here _from Texas_. And that's a hell of a first impression."

"I don't know what happened," Peter said in a low voice.

Her jaw was locked, her eyes bright. "You don't make things easy, Peter," she said in a voice that she successfully kept from being cold.

He watched her for a moment. "I think I need to take a walk," he said.

She nodded. "Maybe that's a good idea."

He turned, and headed down the stairs. She did not slam the door to her apartment.

Peter aimlessly wandered the streets, glancing up at the moon. "Okay, genius butt, where the holy hell was I?" he demanded of his spider ghost.

It was quiet. Not absent, but reluctant.

"You?" Peter said. "Reluctant to share an opinion? Okay look. You keep track of the time by cross referencing the increment of a second with the beating of my heart. So what time is it now?"

_Ten oh three, twelve seconds, _came the reply.

"Oh, fine. So you've been awake the whole time. What happened to me?"

No reply.

"Please?" Peter said. "This is really important. I may have just made a major league boo boo with the most important woman in the world, and you clam up as to what asinine reason could have possessed me to do so. This is worse than when we missed the Chemistry test because I was in jail."

He concentrated on the spider ghost, focused on capturing its feeling.

Fear.

The spider ghost was afraid. Whatever it had seen had rattled it.

Peter blinked and sniffed. "Okay, that's not good," he muttered. He glanced around and noticed that his wandering had brought him to Greenwich Village, not far from Strange's house. What a coincidence.

Peter strolled up the front steps to Strange's brownstone mansion and rapped on the door. He waited. Rang the doorbell. Nothing. He frowned. That was highly unusual. For a second he considered breaking in, but he knew better. With a shrug, he headed home.

Once home, he tossed his clothes off on the way to the bedroom as a peculiar feeling bloomed in him. He realized what it was. Sleepiness. Not something he got a lot of.

Then he toppled onto his bed and slept like the dead…


	2. Off Balance

**xXx**

"You guys have been practicing!" Tandy said warmly as they finished out the run-through. They had limped and stumbled, but hung more or less together, driven by Peter's relentless beat.

"Think so?" Mary Jane said wryly, Band-Aids around her fingertips.

Tyrone just chuckled and swigged a drink from his pop can.

"Now we need to talk about the bridge," Tandy said. "I think we could change some of the transitioning there."

"I can't believe we're doing Mary Had a Little Lamb," Mary Jane said, shaking her head. "Hell of a flagship piece."

"We still haven't worked our name out," Tandy said with a shrug. "We don't know what we'll be doing long term. This gives us something to practice in the meantime. I think it's cool," she grinned. "We can make Mary rock."

In the background, Peter was quietly tatta tapping on the drums, keeping time in an 11/16ths rhythm. Mary Jane looked over at him. He looked almost morose, hunched over the drums, absentmindedly keeping time with a beat only he could hear. She strolled over to him.

"Nice," she said, gesturing at the stuffed "Animal" Muppet doll that hung on the front of his drum set.

"Tyrone gave it to me," he nodded, his drumsticks held so loosely they seemed to be animate as he let them wander the drums.

Mary Jane glanced back to where Tandy and Tyrone were discussing different possible bridges between verses. She turned back to Peter. "You really shouldn't play when we're not playing," she said.

"Bah," Peter said.

"Look, Peter," she sighed. "I'm sorry I snapped at you yesterday. I was worried, and you know why I get worried. Plus, that dinner was really important to me. When it turned out to be nothing," she shrugged. "I still don't know how to feel about that, Peter."

His drumstick tapping got so quiet that it was just a murmur in the background as his perfectly controlled pressure coaxed the strangest echoes from the drum. "I feel kind of disoriented," he said noncommittally. "I've been sleeping at night," he added, looking her in the eye. "Six hours. Sometimes more."

She blinked at that; the spider ghost generally wouldn't tolerate more than four hours. Then, as she looked into his eyes she saw the haunted uncertainty there. She realized he was well and truly spooked.

"Peter, what's going on," she breathed.

"We need to talk," he said. He looked away. "Later."

"You're on," she nodded.

Peter looked down the driveway, and his eyes widened. He stopped drumming, a smile flooding his face as he stood. Mary Jane whirled.

"Harry!" she said, delighted. She slung her guitar off and ran down the driveway.

Sleeker, stronger, leaner, Harry Osborn strolled up the drive. His hair was immaculately trimmed, he wore khakis and a turtleneck and a jacket. He smiled, looking every inch a full fledged adult. He opened his arms and gave Mary Jane a big hug as she ran to him.

Peter disentangled himself from the drum set and strolled down to meet them as Harry held Mary Jane at arm's length.

"Damn, you look fine," he said to her.

"I don't know what you've been doing, Harry, but you better keep doing it," Mary Jane said. "It's been good to you." She grinned.

"Peter," Harry nodded as Peter approached. He shook his hand. "Good to see you again."

"Been working out?" Peter grinned, trading grips with Harry.

"Yes," Harry said. "Tandy and Tyrone. I heard I could see all my favorite people at once if I came over here for your practice. Where's Gwen?"

"She's coming by later, she had to work," Tandy said as she reached the group. "So what have you been up to, President Osborn?"

"Got it in one," he said ruefully. "Running Osborn Incorporated has kept me busy and then some. I've been mixing business and pleasure, visiting all my company's sites and familiarizing myself with operations. I want to know the people that report to me, see them where they work so I can make the best decisions. And a little skiing," he said with a puckish grin, "some kickboxing, general workout stuff. Language studies. Yeah, I've been busy." He shook his head. "I heard this was a band," he said. "Play something for me and I'll buy pizza!"

"You are on, Daddy Warbucks," Mary Jane said, jogging back up to the garage. The band members settled themselves in as Harry leaned against the doorway to the garage.

"We only have one song we're working on so far," Tandy shrugged apologetically, "but we're just getting started."

"Got a band name?" Harry asked.

"Work in progress, and no that's not the name," Tandy said with a smile. "Okay people, from the top."

They launched into an only slightly drunken rendition of a jazzy 'Mary Had a Little Lamb,' and Harry shook his head and smiled. When they hit the end of the second verse they stopped with a flourish from the drums. Harry clapped, laughing.

"That was fantastic," he said. "Peter, you mind calling it in? Get whatever you guys want."

"Sure," Peter said, stepping out of the drums and going to the phone.

"MJ, a word?" Harry said. He stepped out of the garage, lighting a cigarette.

"I see you still smoke," she said, following him outside.

He shrugged. "Everybody dies sometime," he said. "Hey, I've had a lot of time to think."

"I thought you sounded pretty busy."

"I was. But when you're all alone, the nights can go on for a long, long time." Harry pulled on the cigarette, let the smoke breathe out his nose. "I've taken the time to get myself together, get my head on straight. I think…" He grinned, lopsided, looked over the yard. "I think we should give it another try, MJ. I really want you to give me another chance." He looked her in the eye. "I'm not proposing or anything. I just want to see if we could work together. Now that I went and grew up." He was unflinchingly serious.

"Harry," Mary Jane said earnestly, "I'm with Peter now. I can't just dump him."

Harry smiled to himself. "It's good to see you again," he said. He handed her a fifty. Glanced into the garage. "Bye everybody!" Harry said. "I'll see you around." He turned, and strolled towards his Jag parked at the bottom of the Bowen driveway.

Mary Jane watched him go, stunned.

Peter hung up the phone inside. "Okay guys," he said as he walked out to the rest of the band. "We gotta talk." He cleared his throat. Mary Jane, glancing distractedly down the driveway, returned to the garage.

"Wh-wh-wuts up?" Tyrone asked.

"This is really awkward," Peter said, rubbing his neck.

"You ordered anchovies," guessed Tandy.

"It's a bit more complicated than that," Peter said. "I think… I think I need to tell you guys about myself."

"About w-w-walkin on w-walls?" Tyrone grinned. "Or sh-sh-shooting w-webs?"

Peter stared at him, startled.

Tandy couldn't help but grin. "That expression is priceless, Parker. Look. Mary Jane just filled in some of the blanks. It didn't come as a surprise. No normal mortal dances like you do."

Peter looked at Mary Jane, who looked a bit nervous. "Hey, you told me about their freakish powers, it seemed only fair."

Peter reflected on that, shrugged. "Point," he said. "So… yeah. Maybe our band name should be Circle of Freaks." He grinned.

"Hey, I don't have powers," Mary Jane protested.

"Yeah, but you're still a freak," Peter grinned. She pretended to scowl, and she flicked a pick at him. He caught it between two fingers, then stepped over and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

"I think we're done for tonight," Tandy sighed. "I have some homework to get to. Hey, good practice. Mary Jane, you're _really_ coming along."

"Tandy, you're just cool," Mary Jane said, glowing with the compliment.

"Will you take me home?" Peter asked Mary Jane.

"Oh, I suppose," she said. "See you peeps later." She swung her guitar into the case, shrugged her jacket on, grabbed her purse and her boyfriend, and left.

As they walked down the driveway, Peter cleared his throat. "Mary Jane, I need to ask you a favor."

"Yes?"

"Will you spend the night with me tonight?"

She looked over at him, startled. "What?"

"I don't want to cross any of our lines," Peter said, "but… will you? Look, we can talk about it tonight. I just… I would really like you to spend the night at my place."

She considered, looking at him. Then they reached her car.

"Sure, Peter," she said. "I'll spend the night at your place. My parents left this afternoon, so they don't mind. I'll bring my teddy bear, he can chaperone me." She grinned.

"Deal," Peter said, and they climbed into her car and drove away.

**xXx**

"Okay, hot shot," Mary Jane said to Peter as she sat on his bed, firmly clutching her teddy bear, "your therapist's meter is running, so let's do this."

He maneuvered into his bedroom. Both of them wore sweats, he had two mugs of steaming hot chocolate that he put on the night stand by the filmy abused alarm clock.

He sat on the bed, heaving a deep sigh. "Okay." He said. He looked at Mary Jane directly. "The spider ghost is scared."

She blinked. "Whoah," she said. "I thought he was like the sarcastic timex from hell. What spooked the spider ghost?"

"That's the thing," Peter said. "It's too spooked to tell me. So I try to grill my subconscious, and all I get is this intimidated silence. Last night? I was unconscious for ten hours. _Ten hours._ That just doesn't happen. No dreams. No subliminal feed. Just… nothing."

Mary Jane thought that over as she sipped her hot chocolate. "So when did this start?"

"When I went to join you and your parents for dinner. That was the only time it happened when I was awake. After that, Monday night and last night. And I can feel it building for tonight. This is… this is scary, MJ," he said in a subdued tone. "I wanted you to be here. To watch over me while I sleep."

"And here I thought you were seducing me," she said with a wry grin. "Trying to web me to the bed and make me your love slave."

"I swear, woman, you and your twisted fantasies," Peter grinned. But his heart wasn't in it. "You will stay with me tonight, won't you?" he asked in a small voice.

"I sure will, tiger," she said, ruffling his hair. "So why haven't you asked Strange about this? Could save me a night's sleep."

"He's not home," Peter said. "I called the office, and Doug doesn't know where he is. I can't find Illyana. Something is going on, but I don't know what. To have them missing is a bit unnerving all by itself. I'm just scared," he said hesitantly, "that something's gone haywire with my abilities. That I've had my day in the sun and I'm melting down or something. Some kind of magic cancer or… or… I don't even know what." He shook his head. "Thanks for being here. I can't tell you what it means to be able to talk to somebody about this."

She smiled at him with genuine warmth. "I'll tuck you in, ya big lug," she said.

Peter downed his hot chocolate, then put the mug aside and wriggled under his comforter. Mary Jane pulled the comforter up to his chin, ran her hand through his hair, and gently kissed him on the cheek. His head lolled to the side, and he settled into deep, unnatural breathing. He was totally unconscious.

"Peter?" she said uncertainly. No response.

Mary Jane bit her lip, looking at Peter uncertainly. Then she pulled up a chair, turned on the television, and settled in for her lonely vigil…


	3. Criminal

**xXx**

The phone rang, startling Mary Jane. She sat bolt upright in the chair, clutching her teddy bear. Then she creaked up out of the chair and closed her eyes for a moment, swallowing, sounding awake. She answered the phone.

"This is Mary Jane," she said with remarkable brightness for someone who had just woken up.

"Oh," said a very confused voice. "I'm sorry. I was using Gwendie's address book, I got the wrong number. I was trying to call Parker."

"This is his place," Mary Jane said pertly.

"Ah."

"It's okay, Mr. Stacy," she said with a smile. "It's my day off and I came to wake him up. Do you want to talk to him?"

"Won't be necessary," Mr. Stacy said, sounding secretly relieved. "Gwendie thought it would be good for you two to come have lunch with us today if you're free."

"Sounds great, I'll get the big lug out of bed and we'll be by," Mary Jane said. "What time?"

"Noon good?"

"Be there with bells on," Mary Jane smiled. "See you later, Mr. Stacy."

They finished out pleasantries and she hung up the phone. She rubbed her face, then she rubbed her back. The television was muted, and some morning show was on. Peter lay in the exact position he had been in when he fell into the bed.

"Damn," she muttered, and she twisted her head, cracking three vertebrae in her neck. "Remind me never to do that again." She kneeled on the bed. "Pete, wake up, tiger." She shook him. She realized his whole body felt different when he wasn't aware, when he wasn't in it. Until she touched him when he was totally unconscious, she didn't realize how his razor sharp reflexes always adjusted, were always ready for everything. Slack and absent, he seemed somehow smaller.

He didn't respond. She pursed her lips. "Hey, slugger, c'mon, up and at 'em!" she said. She scooped up a pillow and smacked him with it.

Nothing.

She took a couple steps back, then rushed to him and put her finger on his wrist. He still had a pulse. She straightened, and gazed down at him with open concern.

His fingers twitched, then he gasped and rolled over. In a reflexive action he stood, then blinked stupidly as he looked around the room. A few seconds later he was fully alert.

"Holy cow, Peter, that's scary as hell," Mary Jane said quietly.

"Yeah," he nodded, worried. "I think so too. Was I here all night?"

"Far as I know," Mary Jane said. "Oh, Gwen and Mr. Stacy are having lunch, they want us to come for it."

"What time?"

"Noon."

Peter glanced at the clock. Nine in the morning. He grinned at Mary Jane.

"We'll make it. First, I need to reward you for staying with me last night." Then he caught himself. "Oh man, do you need to go to work?" he asked in potential panic.

"I have Wednesdays off," she reminded him, arching an eyebrow.

"Right. Because it was last Wednesday we went to be groupies for Tandy and Tyrone." He laughed and shook his head. "This has been a hell of a week."

"Not sure this one is promising," Mary Jane shrugged. "One thing is for sure, Peter, it's never boring being around you."

"Must be my sparkling wit," Peter said dryly.

"Must be," Mary Jane agreed as she groped for the pillow she had smacked him with.

**xXx**

"Fabulous as always, Gwen," Peter said, pushing back from the table as lunch wound down.

"Thank you," Gwen nodded to him, her bright eyes sparkling with the compliment.

"I'll help you clean up," Mary Jane stated.

"So Peter," Mr. Stacy said, leaning back in his chair. "Brilhart give you a call?"

"No," Peter said, a bit confused. "Why?"

"Not at the table, dad, we agreed," Gwen said severely. He chuckled.

"There have been a rash of unsolved burglaries that seem to be a bit unusual," Mr. Stacy said. "Come on, Peter, let's go solve the crime," he added with a smile as he stood.

"I think I'll stick with the dishes," Mary Jane said, collecting plates. Peter padded off after Mr. Stacy, to the den. Mr. Stacy picked up his pipe and a newspaper. He tossed the newspaper to Peter, who sat in one of the chairs in front of the desk. Mr. Stacy sat down and started packing his pipe.

Peter glanced at the highlighted article. He skimmed it.

"Warehouse payroll stolen. So?" he said, looking up.

"And this is today's paper," Mr. Stacy said, sliding the paper over to him. Another article, a little less deep in the paper, was highlighted. Peter glanced at it, then blinked, then looked back and forth between the articles.

"A jewelry store, cleaned out in under five minutes," Peter noted, looking at the current article. "Metal bars wrenched off, extremely fast…" He looked at Mr. Stacy, genuinely startled. "A figure in a black leotard?"

"Anything you want to tell me?" Mr. Stacy asked as he closely examined his work in preparing his pipe.

"You look tired," Gwen said to Mary Jane.

"Trouble sleeping," Mary Jane shrugged. "No big thing. Happens to the best of us from time to time."

"How are you and Peter doing?" Gwen asked.

"Good, fine, what kind of a question is that," Mary Jane replied, faintly bemused. "How are you and Flash doing?"

"Good," Gwen shrugged. "Hey, Harry's back. I told him over the phone he could probably catch you guys practicing last night."

"He did," Mary Jane nodded.

"I think the band is such a cool idea," Gwen said with a smile. "I was thinking about maybe getting Tandy and Harry together for a date."

"That's a bad idea," Mary Jane said with a sudden forcefulness that surprised her. Gwen glanced over, clearly startled. She quickly returned her attention to the dishes, too polite to say anything.

"I was just thinking," Gwen said, "Harry seems to have gotten himself sorted out in his travels. I thought maybe he and Tandy could be an item, that's all," she said.

Mary Jane dried the dishes, distracted and thoughtful.

"One more robbery like that," Mr. Stacy said, pointing at the papers with his pipe stem, "and it will be front page. I don't think you want that."

"You're right, I don't," Peter said, feeling a shortness of breath.

"The police are speculating it's a team of acrobats. I think it would be best if that team of acrobats remains uncaught. But those robberies. They have to stop," Mr. Stacy said, shaking his head.

"I'll look into it," Peter managed. "Can I have these?" he said, gesturing at the articles.

"You bet," Mr. Stacy said, leaning back in his chair. "Good luck, son."

"Hey ladies," Peter said, strolling into the kitchen. "Gwen, you mind if I steal Mary Jane and stick you with the clean up?"

"I suppose," Gwen said with a lopsided grin. "You two stay out of trouble, okay?"

"Wouldn't have it any other way," Peter said with a grin. Mary Jane tossed the dish towel on the drainer and brushed her hands together.

"Bye, Gwen," she said. "Bye, Mr. Stacy!" Then she and Peter were out the front door.

"You have newspapers," Mary Jane said slyly. "I take it you'll be busy?"

He handed the papers to Mary Jane, and they got in her car. She glanced over the articles, then her eyes widened as she read the description from the security cameras of the thief.

"Peter?" she said uncertainly.

"One on Monday," Peter said, "One on Tuesday. I don't like it. I can't convincingly prove it wasn't me. Not even to myself."

"I was there last night," she said uncertainly.

"There is a possibility," he said evenly, "that I could sneak past you if you were asleep."

"So this is my fault?" she said, nettled.

"No," Peter said. "And I hope it isn't mine either. Let's go back to my place…"

Peter walked in and immediately headed for the bedroom. "Peter?" Mary Jane said as she closed the door and turned to follow him.

"If I did it, then I used mesh," Peter said. "So I'll check my mesh and see if it's been used."

Effortlessly kneeling and reaching under the bed, he pulled out the shoebox he kept his extra mesh in. Opening it, he gasped and staggered back and up to his feet. His blood ran cold.

Mary Jane's hand fluttered to her chest as she looked at the shoebox.

Inside, there was no mesh. But the shoebox was full of diamonds, pearls, and jewelry.

"There must be a hundred thousand there easy," Mary Jane breathed.

Peter stared at the sparkling hoard, his breathing shallow. "Oh no," he whispered, horrified.

"What are you going to do with it?" Mary Jane asked, startled.

"I gotta go hide it," he said. "Until I figure out how I'm going to return it. It wouldn't be planted here unless somebody was trying to frame me, and that means the cops will be here any minute. Gotta move fast!" He swept the lid back on the shoebox, scooped it up, ran to the back window, and opened it to slip out rapidly. Mary Jane watched him go, bewildered, as the window slid shut with a click.

"A hundred thousand easy," she managed.

A heavy knock rapped on the door. Mary Jane jogged over, glanced out the peephole, then opened the door.

"Hello, Detective Brilhart," she said brightly.

"Ms. Watson," Brilhart said with a winning smile. He was tall, slightly stooped, with eyes that were too old for his face. "Is Mr. Parker around?"

"No, he's stepped out for a minute. Would you like me to give him a message?"

Brilhart smiled briefly. "No message. I'll catch him later. No official business. Just had a couple questions I thought he could help me with. Have a good afternoon," he said, tipping his hat.

"Thanks," Mary Jane said, closing the door. She watched the detective drop into his car, start it, and drive away.

"Whoah," she murmured to herself.

Peter shook his head as he finished using a Kleenex to polish the last bit of jewelry. "There," he muttered. "No traces. Any of this look familiar to you?" he asked his spider ghost acidly.

No response.

"Fine," Peter grumbled. He glanced around his room in his aunt's house. From under the bed he got the shipping envelope he had stuffed a backup suit of mesh into. He quickly stripped and pulled the mesh on. "I'll go look for myself. I can't believe there weren't any traces on the jewelry as to who handled it last. Did you do this?" he asked the mirror. His haunted eyes didn't have an answer.

He flexed the spinnerets on his forearms as he squirted web and shaped a bag for his clothes. Slinging that over his shoulder, he picked up the shoebox of valuables and slid out the window, closing it behind himself.

**xXx**

Twenty minutes later Peter had stashed the shoebox between the ceiling and the floor of the second story of the science building at Empire University. Another twenty minutes took him to the jewelry shop that had been robbed.

The spider ghost stood on the roof of the building and looked down at the unmarked police car that was parked in front of the jewelry store, the two cops inside having coffee. He would take a more subtle approach. He scouted briefly, then saw the scars where the iron bars had been ripped out of the third story window.

Dropping down the side of the building, he stealthily slipped inside.

"Okay, spider senses," he muttered. "Do your thing." He examined the brick where the bars had been. The bars had been torn casually out of the brick, that much was clear by the explosive force that had wrenched them free one at a time, left to right. Nothing had rubbed against the brickwork, so whoever entered this way couldn't be much bigger than Peter. He glanced at the floor; nothing. He examined the cases. Casually smashed, no blood, no traces. He looked closer, leaning right up to the glass.

No skin oils. Nothing. Nothing at all. He looked around the crime scene, his intense senses playing over everything. Slowly, he turned to look at the camera. He approached it.

There were traces of an oil of some sort on the lens. He sniffed at the camera.

He smelled something very like his pheromonal breath.

Peter flinched from the possibility, but there was no denying the truth.

A voice in the hallway. Harsh voice. Peter sprang up to the corner of the room and made himself very small in the ample shadow. The door opened, and a heavy man walked in.

"Brilhart," the big man said, "this is ridiculous. Get Peter Parker. I know you don't think it's him. But his friend. This spider ghost thing. It's cagey. This has every sign of it being _him_. We got inside contacts here, that Parker guy can reach him. Can we please quit protecting those two?" He listened for a minute as he glanced around the shop. He walked over to the window and inspected the frame. He sighed.

"Right, you're the boss, Brilhart. Fine. You talk to Parker. Me? I'm gonna keep an eye on his tax bracket. No way this aint gonna show up. I ran a background check on him. Last year he wins this scholarship. It all looks like a fence to me, Brilhart. A one time academic award? Nah. He sold the Stark Foundation something he stole, something it wanted, for a huge sum a money. I know he doesn't seem like the thieving type to you. But he is. Yeah." He listened some more. "Yeah, I know. I know, I know. I'm staying away from the press. But you can't let him get away with another one of these, Brilhart. You get me? One way or another, somebody's got to say _something._ Yes sir. Yeah, I'll get it. Yeah. Bye." He hung the phone up, then surveyed the broken cases. He clucked to himself, shaking his head. He headed out of the shop.

Shivering, Peter darted to the window, slipped out, and disappeared across the rooftops like a shadow in clouded moonlight.


	4. Busted

**xXx**

"Anything?" Mary Jane asked, leaning against the doorframe as dusk slid towards night.

"Maybe," Peter said shortly, stripping the mesh off and sliding into his clothes. "I… it might have been me. I can barely wrap my head around the idea. I have no idea what to do." He looked at Mary Jane, pleading in his eyes. "I fought so hard not to be a thief. Is this some delayed hypnosis? How to do I fight it? Where the hell is Strange?" He shook his head. "I don't know what to do. I have no idea what to do."

"Ssh," Mary Jane said, stepping over to him. "You're a genius, Parker. You'll figure something out. Don't beat yourself up, that won't help a thing. I have faith in you. You can beat this."

"Yeah," he said, pulling her into a hug so she couldn't see his eyes. "I'll figure it out. I'll figure something out…"

Five minutes later Mary Jane yawned prodigiously. "I gotta go home, Pete," she said. "I can't even try to pull another all nighter."

"Will you stay with me?" Peter asked, suddenly nervous. "Not all night. Just… just until I go to sleep."

"Ordinarily no, Alert Lad," Mary Jane said, trying to be arch and failing. "But tonight? You got yourself a babysitter. For a few minutes, anyway. I _do_ have to work tomorrow."

Peter lay down on the bed. "Now I lay me down to sleep," he murmured. "Pray the Lord my soul to keep. Should I sneak out before I wake…" He shivered. Mary Jane tucked the blanket around him and lay down next to him.

"Good night, Peter," she said. He lay his head down on the pillow, and unconsciousness stole over him with an unnatural speed that had little to do with sleep.

Mary Jane studied his face, the care that was pressed into it. She sighed almost imperceptibly as she used a finger to brush the hair back from his face, tuck it over his ear.

"Peter Parker," she mused to him, "you are the only man I know who gets creative with his finances to pay off his bills, then is actually genuinely distressed to find a box of jewelry in his room." She smiled as she kissed his forehead. "You are my hero," she whispered to him. "You didn't even keep a single ring." She pressed her forehead against his as he lay unnaturally still. Then, she stood and turned off the light, leaving him alone and senseless in the dark. She locked the door behind her, and all was still in the apartment…

**xXx**

The phone was ringing as Mary Jane walked in the door. She pounced over to it and scooped it up. "Yes?" she said.

"MJ, it's Gwen. Flash and me and Harry and Tandy are clubbing tonight, and I think it would be sweet if you could come along. Whaddya say?"

Mary Jane smiled. "I think a night at the club is just what the doctor ordered," she said. "Do you want to meet there?"

Gwen talked to somebody in the background. "I'll pick you up. Twenty minutes?"

"More than I need, girlfriend," Mary Jane said with a sly smile. "See you then."

Twenty minutes later, Mary Jane opened the car door and dropped into the back seat of Flash's car. She wore a low backed dress with a modest skirt length made sassy by a slit up the side. She was tucked into a short jacket that revealed the clean lines of her torso in her one piece dress.

"So where we going tonight?" she asked, her face flushed and a shine in her eyes.

"Banzaitronica," Flash said. "It's a new rave club. Been there once. It didn't suck," he grinned.

"As ringing an endorsement as your vocabulary allows," Mary Jane said with a grin.

"Ouch," Flash said. "You've been hanging out with Parker so much I forgot how much I hate having you in the back seat."

"Don't try to butter me up, it won't work," Mary Jane replied. "Gwen, fabulous dress," she said, glancing over the back of the seat. Gwen blushed.

Ten minutes later they parked in the back of a rather crowded parking lot. As they walked towards the building, Gwen turned to Mary Jane.

"Harry told us to call him when we got here," she said. "To let him know. He should be her already."

Mary Jane pulled out her cell phone, and took Harry's number from Gwen. She called. After one ring, the phone picked up.

"Osborn," Harry said.

"This is MJ. We're outside the Banzaitronica," she said.

"Cool. See you in a minute," Harry said.

"Maybe more," Mary Jane said."There's a hell of a line."

Harry chuckled and hung up.

By the time they reached the end of the line, a bouncer was waiting for them.

"Mr. Thompson party of three?" he inquired politely.

"Smee and us," Flash said with a grin.

"Follow me please." He turned and walked to the head of the line, through the door, past the ticketer, and into the club. He smiled at them as the trance electronica thudded in the air around them.

"Have a great evening," he said with a polite nod, speaking over the music. He turned and returned to the door area as Harry waved them over to a booth.

"Harry," Flash said, "I _definitely_ missed hanging out with you, man!"

"Good work there," Mary Jane said with a cool nod of appraisal.

"What are we sitting down for?" Gwen demanded playfully. "Let's _dance!_"

They hit the dance floor, Flash flailing around in a way that was dangerous to himself and others as Gwen swayed to the music. Tandy settled into her groove, and a couple young sharks drifted over to dance with her. Harry danced opposite Mary Jane, who knew how to use this beat to move.

She watched Harry dance with surprise; he had always been a good dancer, a great mover, but now he had a sinuous grace that he had not had before he left. He moved like a panther, like an athlete, like a predator. The dance floor warmed up as she looked into his eyes and saw something dark, a secret that teased her but revealed nothing more.

Some time later, the group was breathless as the interminable song finally wound down. They reclaimed their booth.

"I need a drink after that," Mary Jane said, fanning herself. She headed over to the bar.

She arrived. "Coke," she said, not making a move to get a way to pay for it. Sure enough, Harry strolled up behind her.

"Double scotch," he said. "And whatever the lady is having, it's on me." He smiled at the bar tender. Mary Jane noticed that he looked older. He was subtly different than the young man that had left almost a year ago to make his way in the world.

"You thought about my offer?" he asked her directly. Even in the bar lights, his eyes were somehow strange, somehow dark. Mary Jane smiled warmly.

"You bet I've thought about it," she said. "What kind of a date did you have in mind?"

His smile grew. "Tomorrow. Dinner. Just wear something black. I'll handle the rest." He got his drink, and raised his glass. "To good times," he said, something about him hungry.

"I'll drink to that, tiger," she said. She clinked her glass to his, and they both drank.

Harry looked her up and down, and he liked what he saw. "I have some business to take care of to clear my calendar," he said. "I'll see you tomorrow." He nodded to her, and left.

Mary Jane let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. She downed the rest of the coke, then returned to the table.

"Where's the founder of the feast?" Flash asked.

"He had to go take care of some business," Mary Jane said lightly. "He just wanted to make sure we had a good time."

"Harry's cool," Flash said with a grin.

"Be back in a minute," Tandy said, getting up and heading for the restroom. Flash grinned.

"Hey Gwendie, up for another dance?"

"Still catching my breath, big guy," Gwen said with a winning smile. "Would you get me a drink?"

"You bet, hot stuff," Flash said, getting up and heading for the bar.

"Hey Gwen," Mary Jane said. "I need you to do me a favor."

"Wow," Gwen said, wide eyed. "I'm always the one that asks you for favors."

"Exactly," Mary Jane nodded. "So you'll do this one for me. Tomorrow night. Would you mind inviting Peter over? Play scrabble with your dad, or watch movies or something? I just need you to keep him busy, that's all."

"Why does Peter need looking after?" Gwen asked.

"He's been falling asleep," Mary Jane said. "He's really hard to wake up when he does that. If his aunt finds him, you know her. She'll call the hospital, and all kinds of bills, a mess all around. So could you look after him?"

"You're going to have dinner with Harry, aren't you," Gwen asked her with a sideways look.

Mary Jane rolled her eyes and sighed through gritted teeth. "It's not like that," she said sharply.

"What's it like?" Gwen asked. "I saw you two dancing."

"You know what? Forget it," Mary Jane said, standing. "I'll find somebody else. Thanks a lot, Gwen."

"Mary Jane," Gwen said, rising, but Mary Jane was already striding off through the crowd.

She banged the door to the women's restroom open. In here, the music was just dull tones and thuds. Tandy was touching up her makeup at the big mirror. She met Mary Jane's eyes.

"Tandy, I hate to be a spoilsport, but I've been hanging around Peter long enough to be able to kill any party," she said ruefully. "Will you take me home? I'd call a cab, but I left my purse at home."

"Sure," Tandy said. "I wasn't really in the mood for this anyway."

The two women left together, walking back out into the cold October night.

"Did you say goodbye to Gwen and Flash for us?" Tandy asked.

"Sure did," Mary Jane said shortly.

They got into Tandy's plush car. By the time they reached the road, the heaters had warmed the car's interior.

"Hey Tandy," Mary Jane said as they hit the road.

"Yes?"

"You busy tomorrow night?" Mary Jane asked quietly.

"Not particularly, why?"

"I was wondering if you could get together with Peter and work on some song ideas or something. I need somebody to keep an eye on him, he's been falling asleep a lot lately."

Tandy looked over at her, then returned her attention to the road. "I can do that," she said quietly.

"Thanks," Mary Jane said, her thoughts distant as she looked out at the scenery that flowed past.

"Just be careful, Mary Jane. Okay?" Tandy said.

Mary Jane looked at her sharply. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" she demanded.

Tandy shrugged. "You know exactly what I mean," she said quietly. "I don't want to fight. But I'm your friend. So just be careful."

Mary Jane bit back her reply and stared out the window.

The rest of the trip passed in silence.

**xXx**

Noise. Lights. Shouting.

Peter roused from his deathlike sleep. On the floor he saw two Brinks truck cases overflowing with cash, blood spattered on one. A black leotard on the floor. In his nightmarishly half-dead world the details in the dim were clear in the bouncing flashlights of his home's invaders. He struggled to get up, to move. One arm twitched.

Then the SWAT team surrounded him, shouting. He faded out as a cold steel handcuff snapped around a wrist. He was gone again.

Lights slowly strobing. Cold. Hard. Truck. He passed out.

He was conscious for the booking. Then he was dumped into the holding cell with the other prisoners. The cold was penetrating, and he still wore his sweats and a pajama shirt.

The police released him into the tank, then resumed their guard stations. Peter looked deliberately around his cell, struggling with the weird receding unconsciousness that had gripped him. He still couldn't form words.

"Whatchu lookinat?" a huge black man snarled at him. The rest of the drunks in the holding cell shrank away from him and from Peter.

Peter fixed him in a cold stare, too furious to be amused.

The black man shifted, looking away. Then he turned away and covered the side of his face with his hand as Peter stood rigid and immobile. The bars. The bars were foolish, a second of effort and he was free and armed with steel to crush whatever he pleased. Peter struggled to surface, struggled to restrain the spider ghost. He could practically taste the big man's blood.

Peter forced himself to sit in the corner. He hugged his knees, resting his mouth on his knees, and his glittering eyes watched everyone and everything.

Less than an hour had passed when the detention door opened again. Brilhart and the heavyset detective that worked with him walked up to the holding cell. Everyone in the cell, including the addicts and fiends, was somewhat crowded in two thirds of the cell. No one sat closer than that to where Peter was folded in the corner.

The policeman opened the cell door. "Parker," Brilhart said quietly, "come with us."

Peter approached them, accepted cuffs on his wrists. Stupid cuffs. One flex. That's all he'd need. Peter struggled with the impulse and remained wordless as he was led out of the holding area.

The interrogation room was warm, uncomfortably warm. Peter sat at the table, hands cuffed behind him, eyes staring straight at the mirror on the wall. Brilhart stood on one side, the heavyset detective on the other.

"Doesn't look good," the broad detective leered at Peter. "See, we know that you or your friend was watching that Brinks route. So we put tracers in the money cases. When you swung down outa nowhere, or your friend, whatever, and punched that guard's head in and took the cases, we just followed the money to your place. With enough evidence to put you away for good. What the hell are you on? Doesn't matter, the blood and urine tests'll turn it up." He grinned triumphantly.

"That'll do, Vine," Brilhart said, distracted. "Why don't you step outside."

"Right," Vine said, and he left the interrogation room.

Peter continued staring into the mirror.

"I was always… worried this would happen," Brilhart said reluctantly. "What got into you? Or the spider ghost? What the hell is going on? I didn't want to believe it was you. I still don't. But you have to give us something to work with." His eyes tried not to convict him.

Peter was rigid. He said nothing.

Brilhart shifted uneasily. "Maybe… it would be best if you stayed in solitary," he murmured.

When they came to take him away, Peter did not resist.


	5. Influence

**xXx**

By mid morning, Mary Jane had arranged to see Peter. She fidgeted on the other side of the thick plexiglass. Peter was brought out to sit opposite her. She picked up the phone, he picked up the phone on his side.

"Peter, my God, what the hell is going on?" Mary Jane said breathlessly. "They're holding you without bail. What happened?"

"I woke up," Peter said, his voice hoarse. "They were there for me. Evidence all around me. It doesn't matter," he managed.

"I should have stayed with you," Mary Jane said as tears threatened.

"Can't be there all the time," Peter said with a shake of his head. "Look, better that you aren't involved."

"Are you… okay?" she said, peering into his red eyes.

"No," he said softly. "I'm scared out of my mind. I can't stay. I can't run. I can't stop it. I don't even know what's going on. I'm not even sure I'm innocent." His low rush of words sent chills up her spine as she looked into his eyes and saw desperation so intense he was numb. "If they don't know about me by now they will by the end of the day. One way or another, Peter Parker dies."

"Peter," she whispered, pressing her hand against the glass. He briefly touched his side, then lowered his hand. "Mary Jane," he said seriously. "Get out of this before you are involved. Get out before they start asking questions. I can't… you must not be pulled into this."

"Peter," she managed around the lump in her throat. Then she slowly hung the phone up, stood, and deliberately left without looking back.

She didn't master herself until she reached her car in the parking lot. By then, her eyes were cold.

"After all," she gritted out, "I gotta look good for my date tonight."

**xXx**

A tall man with stooped shoulders and white hair strolled into the police impound garage. He wore a trench coat to stave off the October chill.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen," he said with jovial smile. "This must be the truck from that robbery last night."

"Piece of work, isn't it?" the mechanic noted. "What brings you down here, Stacy?"

"Just looking around," Mr. Stacy said with a bit of a rueful smile. "I like to keep up on the weird ones."

"Then this is the one for you," said a policeman who approached from the back of the garage.

Mr. Stacy squinted at his nameplate. "Officer Petit. What do you mean?"

"Whoever did this," Petit said, nodding at the truck, "must be absolutely fearless and a crackhead to boot. Every bone in his hands is broke today. Exhibit A," he said, walking over to the bench where the back doors to the truck had been laid. "These things were just casually ripped off. First they had to be opened."

Mr. Stacy squatted down, his knees cracking. He peered at the fist-sized dents that plowed deep into the steel of the armored door. The sharp rip of the hinges sundered by incredible force. One of the doors was spattered in blood.

"Two men in the hospital, one in the grave," Petit said with a shake of his head. "Whoever did this was a mean sumbitch. Just took two cases of money. But they were all tagged," he shrugged. "I figure if we don't have the right man, we got the next best thing." He grinned as Mr. Stacy turned and looked him in the eye.

"Really?" Mr. Stacy said.

Petit nodded. "Peter Parker is in custody right now," he said. "All it takes is one drug test."

"Indeed," Mr. Stacy said. "Thank you for the help. I must be going." He smiled briefly.

Petit watched him go.

**xXx**

"Hullo, Silas," Mr. Stacy said with a rueful grin.

The pudgy, balding man turned to see who interrupted his work. His eyes brightened. "Stacy! Why, Retired Police Captain Stacy! As I live and breathe! What brings you to see me?"

Stacy settled back against one of the steel work tables, glancing around the lab. "I'll be honest with you, Silas. You're working on something of great interest to me."

"Of great interest to everybody," Silas said, looking at the microscope on the table in front of him. "I can't believe my eyes!"

"Exactly," Stacy said with a nod. "Exactly."

"I don't even think this is from a human," Silas said, "though the cellular structure mimics human blood and tissue."

"That's from Peter Parker," Stacy said slowly.

Silas looked up at him, suddenly wary. "Why'd you come to see me, Stacy?" he asked.

"I know that boy," Stacy said with a gesture towards the microscope. He half smiled. "He's a great sleuth. I've seen him untangle cases. Remember that 'Special Crimes Unit' that Brilhart said the commissioner pulled in for the Empire University Roth Hall slayings?"

"Yeah," Silas said. He shuddered. "You shoulda seen what that monster was made of. Stuff like this," he said with a gesture.

"Stuff like that," Stacy echoed. "The 'Special Crimes Unit' was Parker. By himself."

"No," Silas said, breathlessly.

Stacy nodded. "When I was a suspect in the Antiquarian collection theft last year? Parker's detective work cleared me."

"You don't say," Silas said.

"He even sorted out that mass suicide on the West End last year. Quiet, under the table problem solving. He's one of the good guys, Silas."

Silas watched him, sorting things out in his mind.

Stacy sighed. "Silas, in the thirty eight years I was on the Force, d'you remember me ever breaking a law or even bending a rule that didn't need bending?"

Silas chuckled. "Hell no," he said. "There were a _lot_ of guys that were glad when _you_ retired."

"Right," Stacy said. "Parker is a born sleuth. He's a bright kid with a bright future. And as you noticed yourself, he's not normal. Not by a long shot. But he's on our side." Stacy paused. Then he stood, and grasped Silas's shoulder.

"I hate to ask this of you," he said seriously. "If what you see on that slide gets out, Parker will spend the rest of his life in a laboratory. Please. Lose it."

Silas stared at him, his eyes wide, his jaw slack.

"Please," Stacy said, his eyes quietly pleading. "You can make this go away, Silas."

Stacy squeezed his shoulder once, then turned and left the lab.

Silas stared at the samples, uncertain.

**xXx**

A string quartet played in the background as Harry and Mary Jane were seated at the table with the white linen tablecloth.

"Wow, Harry, this is really something," Mary Jane said, glancing around the colonnades and balconies of the expensive restaurant.

"I like it here," Harry shrugged.

"You're going to order for me, right?" she said, a bit nervous. "No snails or raw fish or anything too wild." She blushed.

He grinned at her. "I'll get you something good," he said.

"So what have you been up to?" Mary Jane asked, leaning her chin on her hand and gazing at Harry.

"I've been traveling the world," Harry said. "My father left me some pretty sprawling business interests, so I've been mixing business with pleasure as I traveled to places I couldn't even find on a map before I left. It's been a hell of a trip. I've learned about business, of course. And martial arts. Origami. Cryptology. Meditation." He smiled at her. "I've been searching the world for _what I'm good at._ Everyone should know themselves, their strengths and weaknesses. Everyone is good at something."

"That's great, Harry," Mary Jane said.

He shrugged. "I got tired of life acting on me all the time. I need to act on life. I mean, I went to Empire University because my father wanted me to. I roomed with Peter because Peter wanted me to. I was in a car accident and I wasn't even driving. I got evicted from the bungalow. Then my father died. It was just the last thing, you know, in a series of things that made me feel totally out of control in my life. Instead of thinking that I was holding you to me, I had this feeling that I was just at your mercy. That whenever you were tired of me you'd leave, that Parker would get up the nerve to go for you and you'd get pulled out from under me." He shrugged.

"Now I know better," he said. "I pushed you away. It was my own damn fault. But I've grown up now. I'm not in high school anymore. A year… it's been good to me," he said with a calculated smile. "I'm growing into my place at the head of the company Norman Osborn built."

"So what _are_ you good at?" Mary Jane asked him.

Harry smiled. "Missing you, for starters," he said. "That's the one I want to talk about tonight."

Mary Jane hesitated for a moment. "I'm with Peter now," she said firmly.

Harry leaned back and laughed. "To the normal eye, comparing me and Peter, that would be a bizarre choice," Harry said. "But I understand, I really do. It's his little secret," he said, and a darkness deepened in his eyes, spreading out of his pupil across his iris. "After all, who knows how kinky and exciting he'd be in bed?"

"How did you find out?" Mary Jane whispered through nerveless lips.

"We know all our children." The whisper slid out of Harry, but it was not his voice. His eyes were completely black. Mary Jane was short of breath. His smile seemed frozen. "I met a new friend in my travels," he said in a voice more like his own. "Peter is in jail now because he's a _freak._ It's time for me to get my life back."

"I need to go," Mary Jane said quickly, standing and grabbing her purse and walking away from the table with hurried steps.

Harry chuckled to himself, sipped his water, and gave her a head start.

Mary Jane fumbled her cell phone out of her purse as she shouldered her way into the ladies' room. Her hands shook as she punched in Tandy's number.

"Pick up, pick up," she whispered as she paced in front of the mirror.

On the third ring, Tandy picked up the phone. "Bowen residence," she said.

"Tandy!" Mary Jane said quickly. "I need help. Now. Get Tyrone. Harry's freaking me out. I'm at the Chez Royale. Hurry!"

"On it," Tandy said quickly, and she hung up.

**xXx**

"Tyrone," the robust voice said, "It's that Bowen girl on the phone!"

Tyrone started awake. He was sitting on the couch watching the television, some game show. His brother was laying on the floor coloring a picture. Tyrone stood up and stepped over him, maneuvered around the pile of Legos his sister was tinkering with, and grabbed the phone as his mother returned to whipping the mashed potatoes up with the mixer.

"M-me here," he said.

"Tyrone. I need your help, right away," Tandy said.

"Y-you home?"

"Yes."

"On-n m-my way," Tyrone said, and he hung up the phone just in time for his teenage sister to pick it up and start punching in her friend's number.

"Tyrone, where you goin?"

"O-out, ma, b-be back s-s-soon," and he was out the door.

"I don't like it," his mother said darkly to herself. "That Bowen girl is gonna git my boy in a heap a trouble one of these days."

Tyrone stood in the alley behind his apartment building. He focused, leaning his forehead against the wall.

"C-come on," he whispered, and he let the light drain out of him.

The darkness stirred.

Then Tyrone grunted with the impact as the Shroud unfurled inside him; he felt the pressure in his eyes, and the fabric rippled free, unfurling from his eye sockets, curling out of him until he was covered. He gasped, leaning against the wall, supporting himself with his hand. Looking at his hand, he saw it appeared to be tanned leather, or cunningly worked wood.

Tyrone, now the Shroud, smiled bleakly to himself. Then he leaned back into the shadow that formed himself, right out of reality. In the alley, with a last flourish, the whirling mass of fabric was gone.

He navigated the shadows, the dreams, and as he had practiced, he dropped back into the real world in the edgy shadows of the Bowen garage. Tandy was waiting for him, wriggling out of an oversize sweater to reveal a racy white dress.

"What's the occasion," Tyrone asked, thrilling to the sound of his smooth, reliable, deep voice.

"Mary Jane is in trouble," Tandy said quickly. "She's at the Chez Royale, downtown. Let's go!" He opened his Shroud wide, and she stepped through him into the darkness he was made of.

The dim glow of Agamotto's Light held at bay the swarming kaleidoscope of nightmares that awaited her. By now she could ignore them; it was not good to look too closely. Then they were in the network of dreams and shadows that surrounded Prime.

"There," Tandy said, and they emerged from the shadow of a tree trunk in the small park by the back entrance to the restaurant. "Wait here," she said to the Shroud, then she dashed around to the front of the building.

Mary Jane was running warm water over her wrists, trying to warm up, when the door to the ladies restroom opened and Harry strolled in. He smiled at her, looking her over.

"I don't think you're supposed to be in here," Mary Jane said coolly.

"Not supposed to smoke, either," Harry replied with a peculiar smile, removing a cigarette from his silver cigarette case. He flicked his lighter as he put the case away, and he lit his cigarette. His eyes glittered as he smiled at her. "Mary Jane," he said with a shake of his head, "Don't you know? You dance with the one that brought you. I think it's time we go back to my place and you find out what it's like being with a real man."

Mary Jane backed up, thinking fast.

Just then, the restroom door opened and Tandy strolled in. She stopped and blinked.

"Why Mister Osborn," she said, amused. "They get such handsome valets in these restrooms. Oh! Mary Jane. Oh. My. God. You have _got _to see the new car my mom got me. Come on! Later Harry," she said as she babbled on, grabbing Mary Jane's wrist and hauling her out of the bathroom.

A muscle twitched in Harry's cheek, then he smiled slightly.

"Fine," he murmured. "We have other business to attend to tonight."

In a single smooth motion, he hopped up and opened the window and slid out through it, letting it bang shut behind him.

**xXx**

"Absolutely not," Tandy insisted as she and Mary Jane approached where the Shroud lurked.

"I am going with you," Mary Jane said fiercely. "Harry is wigged out. He's some kind of monster. I suspected, but—look, it isn't important, okay? He's out to get Peter. What are we going to do?"

"I'll see if I can find him," the Shroud murmured in his deep voice.

"Tyrone?" Mary Jane said, squinting. "Damn, that's creepy as hell!"

Tyrone flashed her a smile, then folded into himself and vanished with a flicker of fabric and shadow.

"I appreciate your situation," Tandy said, putting her hand on Mary Jane's shoulder, "but—"

"No," Mary Jane said, brushing her hand off. "You're going to tell me that it's too dangerous, that I don't have any special powers to defend myself. You know what? I don't. But Peter is my man, Tandy. It's not going to be safe being around him. So I'll just take my chances and see what I can do. Both Harry and Peter know me, and I know them. You can't cut me out of this."

Tandy studied her for a moment, then nodded. "You're right," she said. "Welcome aboard."

"Thanks," Mary Jane said seriously. "Okay. First let's get some of Peter's mesh. He may not need it, for all I know. But if he does, I want to have it for him."

"Let's get going," Tandy said.


	6. Shadowmatch

**xXx**

Peter sat in his cell, waiting for it. He knew precisely what it would take to leave through the window. Nothing held him here but self restraint. He wondered how much longer that would be true.

He had wondered about a great many things. He had little else to do.

He was startled by a _fwip_ sound. Glancing over that the barred windows, he saw a black tendril wrapped around one. _Fwip fwip fwip fwip_. More tendrils, wrapping around the other bars. With a sudden rasping jerk, the bars tore out of the wall. Peter sprang to his feet as two black-clad hands whipped up and grasped the window frame.

Adrenaline blazed through his system as he caught a whiff of himself. He stared, frozen, at the black-clad fingertips. They shifted, and merciless claws slid out of the tips. In a sudden burst of strength, half the wall tore away. Peter caught only the faintest glimpse of a figure dropping away outside the prison as a hellish giggle hung in the air.

The door at the end of the cell block banged open, running feet approached.

Peter realized if he stayed, they might not believe he didn't do it. He might be moved somewhere more secure. He couldn't think of a way that he could spin this to his advantage. "No," Peter muttered through gritted teeth. He sprang out of the shattered wall and dropped.

As he fell, he caught a glimpse of a lightless figure tossing something like web, swinging into deeper shadow.

"What the hell was that!" Peter demanded of his senses.

They had picked nothing up. Chilled and heated by fear and rage, Peter fired a web strand and slung over the street, whipping into the same alley his mysterious benefactor had taken.

Wind thrilled through Peter as he slung down the alley, springing and firing web, moving dangerously fast as his prison clothes whirled and flapped on him and the wind whistled across his wide-open eyes.

"Work with me," he hissed between his teeth. "What are we chasing?!"

His spider ghost was silent. Fearful.

"Alright," Peter snapped. "This time I'm going to go sort it out with or without you."

The chase whirled up to the rooftops as Peter saw a silhouette that looked remarkably like him go arcing up out of the alley on a strand, whistling through the sky to land on a cornice. The figure turned to look at him, huge pale eyes reflecting the streetlights. It puffed a breath out, and the steam wreathed its head. Peter thought he caught a glimpse of light reflected from teeth. Then it whirled and sprang away, lithe and frightening.

Peter wondered if that's what he looked like to others as he followed.

His flimsy shoes long gone, Peter sprang and whirled over the rooftops, ducking around air conditioning units and chimneys, leaping over streets and lower rooftops, led and taunted by the shadow of his shadow. His clothes weren't able to take the strain; he lost a sleeve from the shirt, the cuff of the other sleeve was ripped to tatters, his pants frayed from the knees down as he scrabbled, dashed, and sprang over the restless city.

Peter didn't feel the wind. He didn't notice the cold. His raw hands and feet didn't register pain. The thing he chased left no trace. He knew if he lost it he wouldn't be able to find it again.

He would not lose it.

Peter poured on fresh determination and speed, whirling and whipping over the city like a man possessed. Too long without exercising, without practicing. He pushed further, shot thinner threads, moved with unholy and inhuman speed. Nothing would stop him. Nothing.

The street lamps below flashed by, the traffic flowed with the arterial pulse of the city. In the distance, sirens started. Even their helicopters could not catch Peter now. Nothing could. Except possibly the shadow he pursued.

Then, as abruptly as the chase had begun, it was over. Peter whirled up to the rooftop of a warehouse and landed with his muscles coiled to spring. He skidded to a halt. Standing on the roof of the warehouse, dimly lit by the clouds reflecting the light of the city, the inky shadow stood. Its chest heaved with exertion as it stood turned away from Peter, head cocked to the side, unnaturally aware.

The figure was inky black, light did not reflect from it. Its surface had an oily sheen that Peter's senses couldn't lock onto. Peter caught his breath for a moment, waiting to see what his shadow would do.

"I feel like Peter Pan," he said lamely. "Chasing his shadow. What the hell are you?"

_Show me what you have_, hissed the shadow.

Peter fired out webbing, spakking it right onto the dark figure. He tugged on the strands, but they slid right off the frictionless black. The shadow's shoulders bounced with a chuckle. It turned to face him. He saw the luminosity of its eyes. He saw its teeth; they were as long as fingers, black, translucent in the permanent twilight over New York City.

"Okay, you've seen Aliens just one time too many. Or lots of times too many. Care to tango?"

The shadow pounced at him, and Peter spun to the side as inch long claws naturally protruded from the mobile flesh of the shadow, lashing through the air with passionate savagery. Peter whirled out of the way and bounded back, seriously rattled. He bounced up and caught on the side of a chimney.

"Come on," he muttered. "Help me out here!" His senses picked out the creature he fought as a blind spot, as nothing, not even an emptiness. They simply refused to register that peculiar inky surface.

Peter was fighting by sight and sound alone. The hairs raised on the back of his neck as the creature chuckled.

_Chicken?_ hissed the figure in an unnatural voice. _Yes. You must taste like chicken._

"You're going to have to beat me," Peter said unsteadily. "Fear won't do it for you." He dropped from the side of the chimney down to the roof and he stood, ready.

The shadow stalked towards him, claws flexing, teeth glittering with an odd saliva. Peter realized that was what he was smelling. Then the creature flung its hands out towards him. From the backs of the hands, tendrils of the suit shot out, whirling through the air as though they were living web.

Peter dove to the side, shocked to his core with revulsion at the thought of being touched by that material. He gritted his teeth. Had to be done. He bounded off the wall, rolled in low, and popped up with a punch.

The shadow had already flung itself back out of the way of his blow, and a kick caught him as it sprang away. Peter slid back a few feet on the roofing, the gravel digging into his bare feet.

He scooped up a handful of gravel and started flicking it, piece by piece, hard enough to dent metal. The shadow laughed, a throaty evil sound, as it caught the bits of stone that came at it.

"I'm just going to have to beat you down, and I don't want to," Peter said clearly. "Who and what are you? Maybe we can work something out."

_I am the shadow that cast your ghost,_ whispered the evil slithering voice of the shadow. _It's time you learned your place, Peter Parker._

"Is this a Nazi thing?" Peter asked uncertainly. "I hate those Nazi things."

The figure pounced again, and this time Peter stood his ground.

The first flurry of blows whirled at him, shadow on shadow, and he couldn't pick out the details. His reflexes relied on his senses, and they deserted him. The first, second, third blow he knocked awry. The kick caught him in the knee, and then a punch cracked across his jaw. The thing unleashed an unholy hiss as its claws slashed at him and he ducked and rolled back. The claws tore through shirt, left beads of blood on his skin.

"Okay," Peter said, tearing the shirt off. "Okay. You want to dance? Let's dance." His eyes glittered with fury as he stood in tattered pants, his corded ripped torso rippling with muscle in the chill night. Blood speckled his pants. He hopped at the shadow and landed skidding sideways, throwing gravel at the figure with his feet. As bloody gravel sprayed, Peter popped up and whirled into a kick that caught the flinching shadow in the side of the head. It spun around, slammed off the wall, darted in at him snarling.

Cold rage blazed in Peter. He slapped its claws out of the way as he spun, planting his elbow in the back of its head with all the force he could command. He was going to put this thing down, one way or another. That blow would have punched a dent into steel plating, but the figure rolled with it, knocked forward into a somersault and popping up spinning in the air.

Peter sprang into the air, and the shadow fired a tendril at the roof and yanked down to get out of the way as Peter sailed overhead. Peter skidded to a halt by the edge of the roof.

The monster grinned at him, showing off its shimmering teeth. Then it turned and dashed for the opposite end of the warehouse. Peter followed at top speed.

Launching into the air with a tremendous leap, the creature cleared the four lanes of traffic below and sailed through a plate glass window in a department store. Peter followed, but he fired a web that tugged him off course so he punched through a window further along the side of the building.

The shadow glanced over at him as he bashed through the safety glass and landed rolling. It had been poised to tear at him as he came through the same window it had used, and it did not expect to be flanked. He smiled, traces of cuts across his body and face.

"Now you've done it," he said. He sprang over the perfume counter; behind it was a chair. He snatched the chair and spun, flinging it. The shadow spatted out a tendril that yanked the chair out of the way, but Peter was already charging with the cash register in one hand and a handful of perfume bottles in the other.

It hopped to the side, but Peter flung the bottles with all his strength at the floor by the creature. They shattered, spraying the shadow with shards of glass and splashes of reeking fragrance. As it darted out of the way and accidentally plowed into a rack of shirts, Peter flexed as hard as he could, firing the cash register at the scrabbling shadow like a pitcher throws a fastball.

With a resounding bang, the register snapped into the shadow. It tore loose of the shirt rack and was punched through a discount rack and the shelves of jeans; the shelf flew over backwards and cloth was everywhere as the shadow scrabbled out of the way, Peter hot on its trail holding a shirt rack.

Peter took a moment to yank the hanger wheel off the rack, and now he had a metal pole about five feet long. He twirled it once, and bounded over onto the mess of shirts and jeans.

"I can smell you now," he said, his voice cold. "I don't think hide-go-seek is going to be fun for you anymore." He paused as scrabbling echoed to him from the dim recesses of the Ladies Wear. "I've fought my inner spider ghost before," he said. "Compared to that battle, this is cake. Nothing new. So do you want to come out here and be mastered, or are you going to make me chase you?"

_What do you mean, _me_ chase you?_ the shadow snarled. _Peter Parker can't come back from that jail break. By now they know what you are, or at least what you are not._

"That's true," Peter said with a nod. "I'll sort that out later. Enough about me. What about you? Who are you? WHAT are you?"

_We are better_, the voice hissed. Peter spun in time to deflect the coat rack that hissed through the air at him, banging it with the pole to knock it aside. The strength of the shadow still shocked him. And he was also a bit unsettled that the cash register hadn't ended the fight.

"A guy can dream," he muttered. He bounded along the trajectory of the coat rack, his scalp prickling with suspense as his eyes darted through the shadows, hypertense and waiting for the hit from out of nowhere. The scent of perfume got stronger as he reached the escalators.

He stopped short as he reached the top of the escalator. There was a puddle of perfume, shed from the shadow effortlessly. Peter realized that he was supposed to stand there looking at the perfume for a second. He threw himself back—

Too late. The shadow sprang from behind him, claws slashing. Peter felt them whip through the muscles of his arm like tissue paper, dig out a gouge along his back. He couldn't correct his jump, he crashed against a clothing rack and went down in a pile of fabric.

With a throaty snarl, the creature followed up on its advantage, tearing down at him. He kicked at it and missed, the shadow plunged its claws down into the clothes as Peter squirmed evasively.

Peter twisted up to the side on one knee in time to stop the backhand the shadow flung at him with his unprepared jaw. He sailed through the air, dark lights exploding in his vision, and he hit the railing of the balcony with the small of his back and toppled over.

On the way down, he managed to fire web to the underside of the escalator and swing a bit to slow his fall, sliding along the floor on the level below where he had been hit. His back stung, his cheek was numb, he was laced with fire where the claws had torn him. Peter managed a kippup and wished he hadn't as his blood surged.

Instinctively, he knew the creature had followed him down. As he looked around, he realized he was between home appliances and hardware.

"Damn," he breathed.

The shadows behind him swelled and deepened, and Peter slid out of the way, squaring off with them.

Then he saw the Shroud, and from inside, Tandy and Mary Jane were disgorged to land on their feet on the linoleum thoroughfare of the department store.

Tandy's Eye glittered, the circular glowing mark like a tattoo around her eye. Her face was set in determination and disapproval as she gestured, and Light flared past Peter, who turned from it.

As he turned from the Light, it picked out in sharp relief the shadow that had been silently dashing towards him.

An inhuman squeal of rage, shock, and pain swarmed out of the shadow, and its surface rippled and began to peel back. It stopped immediately and sprang away from the searing, merciless, revealing Light. Tandy rushed to Peter's side, her fist clenched with Light playing around it in a nimbus of power. The Shroud drifted behind them, and Mary Jane stood next to Peter.

"Thank God you're okay, Peter," she said breathlessly.

"More or less okay," Peter managed. "This is the first time I can remember having a bunch of my friends show up mid freak-fight."

"Here," Mary Jane said, handing him a packet of his mesh. "I thought you might want this."

"Hot damn but you're a beautiful woman," Peter said, quickly stripping to his underwear and sliding the mesh over his skin. "I can't tell you how much better this is."

"It is kind of cold outside, you know," she said, trying a smile.

"They wouldn't give me a coat," Peter shrugged. He blinked. "You're awfully dressed up for a rescue," he said as he looked between her black dress and Tandy's white dress.

"It's Harry," Mary Jane said quickly. "Harry is the thing you're fighting. I think it's got something to do with the darkstone. When I looked into his eyes, I saw that same look I see when I look into yours, you know, when you're, uh, busy. Doing this stuff. I knew I had to find out more."

"Hang on," Peter said, blinking. "I'm in jail, and you're going out with Harry? Dressed like _that?_" He looked alarmed.

"Dammit, Peter, you have to make everything difficult," Mary Jane said in exasperation. She took a deep breath. "Peter Parker, will you marry me?"

He blinked, totally slack jawed. "Uh?" he said.

"You're the best man I've ever known," she said steadily. "You're a hero, Peter. I want that for myself for the rest of our lives. There's never been a doubt, not since I got to know the real you, that you're the man for me. You make me feel loved. I was going to have you meet the folks first," she said with a shrug, "but what the hell. What do you say, Parker? Will you marry me?"

Tandy and Tyrone exchanged a startled look. Tandy grinned.

A smile grew on Peter's face. "Yes," he said. "You bet I'll marry you. I would have married you a year ago." His smile grew into a full bore grin. "Hoo," he said. "We're gonna get married."

He pulled her into a hug, and she kissed him passionately. Then she pulled back, scowling.

"Dammit, Peter, I hate it when you get a bloody mouth."

"Well I didn't do it on purpose," he said, trying to be testy and just failing with the swell of joy that filled him. "I'm gonna get married to Mary Jane!" he said to Tandy and Tyrone, who grinned back at him.

"I wanted to do it like this," she said to him seriously. "So there's never any doubt in your mind that I know exactly what I'm getting into."

Peter blinked again, and nodded. "Speaking of which," he said. "Tandy, Tyrone, guard this woman with your lives. I gotta go have a heart to heart with Osborn."

He sprang off into the shadows as he pulled his mask down. Tandy sighed romantically, then looked at Mary Jane.

"You have some blood on you, dear," she noted.

"That's okay," Mary Jane said. "I'm never going to wash this dress again. This is the dress I proposed to him in." She smiled dreamily.

"She's got it _bad_," the Shroud noted.

They vacated the premises.


	7. Purge

Peter zipped out of the mall as the cops arrived and ran in the front door, answering the silent alarm. He moved cleanly, tight in his mesh, the spider ghost once again. He fired out weblines, tugging himself quickly and surely through the wild three dimensional cityscape. His brain was on fire, he felt no pain.

Mary Jane.

Yeah.

"Lightning for blood," Peter whispered as he fired out a stream of web in the chilly night, whirling through the fourth dimension with precise timing that would be the envy of a concert pianist.

And he had a plan. Now he swung through the night, not looking back. He knew where he was going.

If Harry could pace him when he knew where he was going, then Harry deserved to catch him. Peter couldn't restrain a grin. His arm hurt, he had to favor it. His ribs slowly trickled blood. But he was alive, he was moving, and he was unstoppable.

Before him, the Osborn Towers loomed in the urban landscape. Where Harry lived. Where Harry worked. Where Harry would have to confront him. He grinned as he poured on the speed. He did not have to look to know that Harry would be following him now. He had little choice. After all, once your identity is compromised, your options narrow dangerously.

Peter stood on the slanted roof of one of the towers, looking out over the misted and glittering cityscape. He waited patiently. He knew he would not have to wait long.

_I bet you're pretty proud of yourself,_ a familiar voice hissed. _You tend to think very highly of yourself when you untangle life's little knots._

"Lose the voice," Peter said. "It isn't you."

_No, it isn't ME,_ Harry hissed. _It is US. WE. We are better._

"You and what?" Peter said. "It looks like somehow you bonded with the darkstone itself."

In the uncertain silence that followed, Peter scanned the rooftop until he saw Harry hunched in a shadow, ready to spring, his inky black surface shifting like a pool of oil.

"Do you want to fight some more or are we ready to talk?" Peter asked quietly.

Harry shivered, then he sprang out. He lunged at Peter, and Peter skipped to the side, knocking the claws away. Harry lashed out, driven, and Peter snatched his wrist and threw a punch directly into the bone of his elbow. Sputtering in rage, Harry charged at him, claws chopping through the air. Peter twirled into the middle of the strikes, elbowing one wrist away and snatching the other. He stepped to the side with a heavy twist on the wrist, and something snapped in Harry's elbow as he flipped to the side. He finished out the flip and landed, snarling, his arm limp.

"I know I can tear your arm right off," Peter said with cool assurance as he let go and bounced out of reach. "I know how to beat you. Now I know who you are, and what your power is made of. You sure you don't want to talk?"

Harry stood panting, staring at him.

"This is your dream, huh," Peter said, looking him square in an oversized luminous eye. "You have wealth, freedom, the power of the darkstone, and the best thing you can think to do is come after me?"

_You are not better than everyone else, _snarled Harry. _It's time you knew that._

"I do," Peter said quietly. He pulled his mesh hood off, revealing his face. "I know I'm not better. I'm just different. My powers have given me a lot, don't get me wrong. But they've taken a lot away, too. I've learned to appreciate what my sacrifices have gotten me. Like that voice in the back of your mind that whispers to you, tells you things, terrible things."

Harry flinched with surprise. Peter nodded.

"It can be mastered," he said. "Or at least tamed," he said after a moment of thought. "Well, directed to something useful most of the time," he finished with a rueful smile. "The point is, I know the drives you're feeling right now. And they're just using you. They take the anger, the fear, whatever is inside. Then they use that for whips and spurs to make you do what they want you to do. And the Harry Osborn I know is bigger than that."

Harry hesitated, and the darkness peeled back from his face. "P-Peter," he gasped.

"Look, Harry," Peter said. "You wanted MJ because I did. You left to explore the world because I found a purpose and you wanted one too. You even let this… this thing into you, so you could have power like mine." Peter's eyes were gentle. "I've always respected you, Harry," he said. "It's time for you to get out of my shadow and go cast your own."

Harry fell down on his hands and knees, cradling his broken arm against his chest. The dark surface that had covered him receded into his skin. He looked at Peter, his eyes shining with unshed tears.

"Help me," he whimpered.

"I know a doctor that can sort this out," Peter said with a smile. "Let's get you changed. We can take one of your cars."

**xXx**

The door opened, and Peter led Harry inside. They glanced into the kitchen.

Tandy, Tyrone, Illyana, and Mary Jane looked up, surprised.

"Peter!" Mary Jane said, quickly standing. "Harry?"

"It's okay now," Harry said. "I've… I'm not… Is there a doctor here?"

"Yeah," Peter said. "Illyana, is Strange in?"

"He's just upstairs," Illyana said quickly. "Um, upstairs and to the left."

"We'll be back," Peter said, and he mounted the stairs with Harry right behind him.

Strange stood at the top of the stairs. His eyes were calm, but his hair was mussed and he had a week's growth on his sunken cheeks. He smiled politely at the two young men on the stairs.

"Can I help—" he started, then he stopped short and stared at Harry. "The darkstone," he breathed.

"I think the Doc knows what to do," Peter said. "He also has a broken arm," he said to Strange.

"Peter, please wait with the others," Strange said. "Harry Osborn, right?"

"Yes sir," Harry said, surprised.

"Do come with me."

Harry and Strange entered one of the guest rooms upstairs.

"Do you want to know what happened?" Harry asked, feeling a bit awkward.

"You know Peter, probably from school," Strange began.

"He was my roommate," Harry volunteered.

"You detected that he was somehow different, but didn't put a lot of thought into it. You were going about your business when a white haired man with sharp features offered you the power to beat Peter. It seemed like a really good idea. He gave you something like cold coffee to drink."

Harry stared at him slack jawed.

"His name is Mordred," Strange added gently. "Don't ever have anything to do with him again."

"Yes sir," Harry said respectfully. "Can you take that thing out of me?"

"Mostly," Strange said. "He got you to ask him for it first, right? You accepted it voluntarily?"

"Yes sir."

Strange pursed his lips. "Very well," he said. "I'll do my part, then you must do yours."

"I will," Harry said. "When do we begin?"

"Now," Strange said. "But it helps if you are asleep first…" He passed his hand over Harry's face once, and Harry fell into a deep slumber.

**xXx**

Peter reached the bottom of the stairs. He limped into the kitchen and eased himself down into a chair.

"Hey, this Strange guy is a doctor, right?" Mary Jane said.

"Yeah," Peter replied.

"Woo hoo!" Mary Jane said with a grin. "I don't have to do the stitches this time!"

"I need some on my side, and my arm got ripped pretty good," Peter said with a rueful grin. "Hey, Mary Jane. I got hit on the head. A lot. So maybe you can help me clarify this. You did propose to me, right?"

"You bet," she said with a nod.

Peter leaned back in the chair. "Cool," he said with a very satisfied smile. "That's what I thought."

**xXx**

Harry blinked, then sat up. He looked down at his arm, it was in a sling. He was sitting on a bed. Doctor Strange sat on a chair next to him, his fingers steepled, his eyes dark.

"Will… Will I be okay?" Harry asked hesitantly.

"Yes," Strange replied quietly. "If you choose to be."

"Am I going to need physical therapy for this?" Harry asked, nodding at his arm.

"No," Strange said. "I've seen to it that your arm will knit properly, as long as you take care of it. A bit too much racquetball, I should think," he said with a small smile.

"Right," Harry said, shaking his head as memories teased the edge of his mind. "Racquetball with Peter."

Strange said nothing, he simply held up a stone. It was dark, in the shape of a slightly irregular rounded square. One corner was chipped. "This is the darkstone," he said, "reconstituted."

"Almost," Harry said, nodding towards the chip.

"That is within you," Strange murmured. "You agreed to take the stone, and some part of you will always be haunted by a darkness that is beyond you."

"So… what do I do about it?" Harry asked nervously.

"Nothing," Strange said. "Absolutely nothing. If you feel a dark urge, go around it. Be decent. Be human. Deny the impulse to be anything else. Live a good life and you'll be free of this forever." He deliberately put the stone down on the nightstand. "Now for the delicate part."

"What's that?" Harry asked, noticing that his mouth was dry. "Payment?"

Strange's smile was an echo. "No," he said, his thoughts far away. "Not a payment. The question before us is, do you want to remember that this whole incident happened?"

"Do I want to _remember_?" Harry asked, startled.

"Some people," Strange said, "find it difficult reconciling episodes that do not fit with the rest of their lives to the future they wish to have. For those people, sometimes the past can re-shape itself in a more… palatable direction. Reduce the truth to the occasional troubling dream."

"Absolutely not," Harry said firmly. "This episode, as you call it, fits perfectly into my life. I've always wondered what was under the surface. What else was going on. I can't go back to wondering. In fact, you make me curious. Can you look and see if that's happened to me before?"

Strange hesitated. "Not right now," he said. "Maybe later. You're sure?"

Harry sighed. "I've learned from this," he said. "I see now that there are things I need to tend to, things that my… my jealousy blinded me to. I need to be my own man." He looked at Strange. "You said the white haired man was named Mordred?"

"Yes," Strange said. "And he is not a man. He is a creature that _looks_ like a man. He is a malicious and wicked creature that delights in simply being wicked and malicious. He discovered your feelings about Peter, and he used one of his toys," Strange said, touching the darkstone, "to power you up and send you after Peter. In this way, he hoped to foster mistrust and paranoia in Peter, perhaps killing him or driving him away, ideally involving me and having things get ugly one way or another."

"Seems like a lot of trouble to go to," Harry said, wanting a smoke. He licked his lips and glanced around the room.

"Years ago, I locked Mordred in a prison. To keep him out of trouble. He got out. He took it personally," Strange said, his eyes depthless.

"Thanks for your help," Harry said sincerely. "If you need anything, just let me know. I won't forget this."

Strange nodded to him. "I appreciate the offer," he said. A faint smile played across his features. "We're always looking for advertisers for the Planetary."

"Oh," Harry said, his eyes widening. "You're _that_ Doctor Strange!" He grinned, bemused. "I can't believe I didn't make the connection."

"Don't worry about it," Strange said, rising. "I get that a lot."

They were headed down the stairs in time to hear the conversation in the kitchen.

"So you two have _got_ to be in the wedding," Mary Jane was saying to Tandy and Tyrone. "We'll be the best protected couple outside a mob wedding." She grinned.

"I just hope this wedding goes better than the last one I helped out with," Illyana said, shaking her head. She was the first to see Harry and Strange standing in the doorway. "Hey, guys."

"Hey," Harry said. He swallowed hard. "Look, I want to apologize to all of you. I know words are pretty weak, but I am sorry. Peter, you know I'm sorry it turned out like it did. But Mary Jane," he said, a pained expression settling on his face. "I don't know _what_ to say to you. Except that I'll never do anything like that again. I know what came over me. I know I had a part in what happened. And as much as I wish I could say otherwise, some part of me really wanted to betray our friendship." He looked into her eyes, speechless for a moment. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "To you most of all."

"I'm not sure it's that easy," Mary Jane said coolly.

"That's why I'm not asking for forgiveness," Harry replied. "For now, please just accept my apology."

"Apology accepted," Mary Jane said with a slight nod.

"With that," Harry said, "I'll see you all later. I think I need about a week of sleep." He smiled at them briefly, then left through Strange's front door.

"I'll talk to him later," Peter said to Mary Jane in a low voice. "Just what exactly happened?"

"We'll talk later," she replied with an arched eyebrow. "Until then, you can stew in your curiosity."

"You are an evil Nazi," Peter said with half a smile.

"Take it or leave it," Mary Jane replied.

Peter smiled, and stroked her face. "You know I'm keeping you," he whispered. Then his eyes widened. He looked at his hand. The abrasions and scrapes that covered it.

"Oh crap," he said breathlessly. "I broke out of prison tonight!" He stood up quickly. "I need somebody to give me a ride to the station! I gotta turn myself in!" He turned to Mary Jane. "If I can't be Peter Parker any more, will you still love me?"

"Yes," she replied simply. "We'll rename you Slim Guido Sarduchi."

"Strange," Peter said, turning to him. "If it comes to that, can you get me a new identity?"

Strange raised an eyebrow. "If it comes to that," he said with a nod. "Do your best to keep that from happening."

"You know I will," Peter said. "Now will somebody give me a ride to the police station?"

"Maybe I can do you one better," Illyana said with an arch smile.


	8. Resurrection

**xXx**

Peter walked into the police station looking a bit lost and bewildered.

"I need to speak to Detective Brilhart immediately," he said to the woman sitting behind the main desk. "My name is Peter Parker. I accidentally escaped a couple hours ago."

Less than five minutes later, Peter was in a strait jacket handcuffed by his ankles to an interrogation chair that was bolted to the floor in an examination room. Brilhart, Vine, and a handful of SWAT officers stood arrayed against him.

"Please," Peter said. "Give me a chance to explain."

"By all means," Vine said sarcastically, slouching against the wall, "I can't wait to hear this one."

"We're just glad to have you back in custody," Brilhart said seriously. "What's your explanation?"

"If you check the cell," Peter said, "you'll notice that the bars and walls were ripped out from the _outside _of the cell, not broken from the inside. Furthermore, it should mean something to you that I came back. If I was guilty, you'd better be sure I'd run and not let you catch me. Honestly, guys," he said with very earnest eyes, "if I could bust out of a solitary cell on the third floor and levitate to the ground, do you think I'd let you guys tie me up?"

"So what happened?" Brilhart asked quietly.

Peter sighed. "I heard this sound, a weird whippy sound, then the window was ripped out, then the wall. I leaned over to look, and something black hit me. I don't know what happened next."

"I can't believe this," Vine exploded. "You couldn't even bother comin up with a better cover than that?"

"Truth isn't always as convenient as an alibi," Peter snapped. He looked into Brilhart's eyes. "Can we talk?" he asked, his voice low. "Just us."

Brilhart chewed his lip, considering his options. He glanced at Vine.

"Don't do this, Detective," Vine said harshly. "Don't let this punk jerk you around."

"The prisoner is secure," Brilhart said clearly. "Five minutes. Just wait outside."

"Dammit Brilhart, I'm going to report this," Vine gritted out.

Brilhart smiled at him. "You do that, Detective," he said. "I seem to recall the Commissioner enjoys your little reports a great deal."

"Maybe Internal Affairs will too," Vine grumbled.

"Out," Brilhart said, an edge to his voice. The others left, and Brilhart was alone with Peter.

"Thank you," Peter said. "I was hoping you'd come through for your Special Crimes Unit."

"Parker, I can't fix this for you," Brilhart said quietly.

"I want to be honest with you, Detective," Peter said, watching his eyes. "It's about time. We've been through a lot together."

"I don't want to hear this," Brilhart said uneasily.

"Good," Peter said. "That's why I'm telling you. See, I _am_ the spider ghost. You must have suspected. Right now I'm wounded from fighting the one who was imitating me. He's not dead, but I… I fixed what was wrong with him. He won't be a problem again. You have my word. I am innocent," he said, believing every word and letting the force of his conviction communicate itself to Brilhart. "I just couldn't be sure I wasn't under some kind of hypnosis or something until he broke me out and I fought him."

"I believe that you're innocent, but this is going to have to come out in court," Brilhart said.

"You find a suspect and have a trial, I'll testify," Peter said. "But please. I don't want to be that suspect."

Brilhart thought that over, then shook his head. "There's murder in it this time," he said.

"I'm not asking you to turn a blind eye to the case," Peter said earnestly. "In fact, I'll help you recover the stolen goods. I've got some solid leads on that. All I'm saying is, you'll have to investigate it without my help. And Brilhart. Please. Let me go. Let me post bail. I'm not an escape risk. I came here tonight to prove it. Believe me when I tell you I could be in Brazil by now."

Brilhart leaned back against the wall, his mind working as he looked at Peter Parker. The door to the room burst open and Vine strode in, chin out, defiant.

"That was a fast five minutes," Brilhart said.

"Wasn't it?" Brilhart snapped. "You know as well as I do that this guy is the freak that pulled the robberies. We caught him with the _goods _in his _apartment_ for God's sake. _He is our guy._ What did the lab turn up?"

Peter's blood ran cold and his breath froze in his chest.

Brilhart picked Peter's folder up from the table. "See for yourself," he said mildly, handing the folder to Vine.

Vine stared at the pages, slowly flipping through. "This can't be right," he said. "No way this is right. Take another sample."

"Vine," Brilhart said quietly, "give it up. You've pegged the wrong guy." He looked at Peter. "I think we've learned enough here. We're letting him go." He smiled wryly at Peter. "Just don't leave town, okay?"

"I can't believe this," Vine grunted furiously. "I can't believe it."

The paperwork got rolling. Peter started breathing again.

**xXx**

Harry stood by the floor length windows, looking out over the slow pulse of New York in the wee hours of the morning. Behind him, there was a snap hiss and a wash of light. He didn't turn.

"Hey, Harry," Peter said.

"I was waiting up for you," Harry said. "So are you still Peter Parker?"

"Believe it or not, I got it all sorted out," Peter said as he joined Harry at the window. "This is a hell of a view."

"You can still say that when you've seen it from the roof?" Harry said wryly.

Peter nodded. "Still can," he said. He glanced at Harry. "I still haven't lost my sense of wonder," he added with a bit of a grin.

"Maybe I've gained some of mine back," Harry said. He took a pull on his cigarette. Shook his head. "I never guessed at how hard it might be to be you," he said quietly. "Just never grasped it. I think I understand you a lot better now. What it takes to _be_ you. I don't envy you your power," he said, looking at Peter. "I envy you the way you use it." He licked his lips, looking back out the window. "I'm ashamed of myself."

"I'm sorry you got pulled into this," Peter said, putting a hand on his good shoulder. "I really am. That's one of the things that has haunted me since I got this power. People around me become targets. This time was a lot worse than the car crash, huh."

"I'm just trying to figure out how to find my way back," Harry mused as he watched the ceaseless rush of the city far below his penthouse suite. "How do I repay you for saving me from… from what I could have been?"

"I have an idea for a start," Peter said. He glanced around, then eased himself down on an overstuffed chair. "I just came from the police station. I had a frank discussion with Detective Brilhart. Told him I could recover some of the stolen goods."

"I know where all of it is but the jewelry I gave you," Harry said.

"So just return it. Subtly. Anonymously. Be sure to get fingerprints off and all that," Peter said.

"Done," Harry nodded.

"Then there's the matter of the broken wall."

"An anonymous donation?" Harry asked.

"Should do it," Peter shrugged. "Here's the sticky part. Brilhart told me that he couldn't just make this disappear, which I understand. One of the main reasons? This time there was a murder."

Harry thought back, then shivered. "One of the guards at the Brinks truck," he breathed.

"Right," Peter nodded.

"I'll see to it that the family is comfortable," Harry said, flexing his jaw as he looked out over the city. "That's the right thing to do." He turned to Peter. "Does that satisfy your sense of justice? Does that make things right between us?"

"Almost," Peter said. "What happened between you and Mary Jane?"

Harry let out a sigh, and sat in a chair opposite Peter. He put his face in his hands, rubbing gently at his eyes. For a long moment, he didn't say anything.

"I won't say the darkstone made me do it," he said quietly. "The urge was mine. But it was amplified by the… the voice in my head. It was so hard to control. It was like being a teenager again, only a lot worse and backed up by an adult life." He sighed. "I tried to make Mary Jane come home with me. To prove I was better than you in every way. It was this raging obsession. Now that the stone is gone, I can vaguely remember the intensity, but…" He shrugged. "I was about to do something horrible. Tandy rescued her, and I was mad enough to go after you directly."

"Did you hurt her?" Peter asked evenly.

"Not physically," Harry said. "I don't know if our friendship will survive it."

"Mary Jane is a tough woman," Peter said. "Time will tell. Thanks for being honest. I needed that from you." He stood. "If I could have somehow kept you from being infested with that thing, you know I would have."

Harry nodded. "I know. And as horrible as it was, I'm glad it happened. Now at least I know the truth. And I know what I'm missing," he added with a wry smile. "I can't believe you thought you could just tell me you were socially inept and clumsy and that would be the end of my curiosity."

"At least I'm not a hit man, like you thought," Peter grinned.

"Seriously," Harry said, "is there anything I can do to repay you for the trouble I caused?"

"Be your own man, Harry," Peter said as he looked into his friend's eyes. "That will be more than enough." The moment hung between them like a silent pact. Then Peter grinned. "Hey, I'm starving. Want to go to Golden's? My treat. And they're still open."

Harry just laughed at him. "How about I pick up the tab for this one," he said. "I've been saving up."

"Well, okay," Peter said as they headed for the elevator. "As long as you don't have to break the piggy bank."

They left the apartment as friends.

**xXx**

Vine scowled at the monitors, jaw clamped shut. Brilhart tapped at the keyboard, writing up a report.

"Go ahead, say it," Brilhart said, his voice weary.

"I compared the blood samples from the mall with the blood samples from the Roth Hall incident. It's the same guy, Brilhart." He had the sullen sound of an unjustly scolded child.

"Yeah," Brilhart said with a sigh. "Same guy."

"Somebody monkeyed with the blood sample. Peter Parker doesn't have some wacky pal. It's him. I'm sure," Brilhart said. "I want another blood test."

Brilhart leaned back in his chair and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Then he stood and walked around to look over Vine's shoulder at the grainy security camera images. Two lithe figures fighting for their lives, tearing up the store.

"Looks like a couple of monsters fighting," Brilhart noted. "You like Godzilla, Vine?"

"No," Vine said shortly.

"Me either," Brilhart said with a shake of his head. He watched the tapes for a brief moment. "Can you get an i.d. on Parker from those shots?"

"Too damn far away, too dark, too fast, always something," Vine grumbled. "I'll get them cleaned up, though. I'll get a shot. There's gotta be a handful on this tape, and I'll find 'em."

"You remember Roth Hall," Brilhart said. "We lost a lot of cops there."

Vine said nothing, his face set and his eyes glaring at the screen.

"This black thing that he's fighting," Brilhart added. "How do you think we would have captured it? It's a hell of a lot faster than the crocodile thing was. Now it's gone, and it only killed one man. Just one man."

"What are you getting at?" Vine snapped. "Parker is your Special Crimes Unit? Your pet vigilante? Brilhart, do you have any idea how—illegal—stupid—I mean, damn!"

Brilhart leaned over and freeze-framed the tape as a blaze of light screwed up the camera, catching a brief silhouette of the bare-chested fighter as something dark lunged.

"You would send your S.W.A.T. team in to corner that?" he said gently, pointing at the living shadow.

Vine was sullen and silent.

"Aren't you glad," Brilhart said deliberately, "it's not your call?" Vine looked him in the eye. Saw the responsibility for sending men to their deaths.

He looked back at the screen, something different in his eyes. "You're right," he said slowly. He switched the monitor off. "It's not my call."

Brilhart nodded, then went to finish his report.


End file.
